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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27125908">Just Go Back To Not Talking</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatergirl83/pseuds/skatergirl83'>skatergirl83</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEAL Team (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Romance, Suspense</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:56:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27125908</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatergirl83/pseuds/skatergirl83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mandy Ellis is demoted, Brock Reynolds runs into her in Washington, D.C.  Sparks fly in more ways than one as Brock and Mandy search for a terrorist who’s brazen enough to set off a bomb in the nation’s capital and kidnap a Diplomat with her young daughter.  Only by working together—with a little help from Cerberus and the rest of Bravo Team—will Mandy and Brock save the lives of those in the path of a monster, and will Mandy earn her place back in the field with Bravo.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mandy Ellis/Brock Reynolds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Brock walked into the Afghan restaurant in D.C. with Cerberus, he’d wondered whether the owner would kick him out. Devout Muslims typically didn’t like dogs; the religion deemed them unclean. Brock had no plans to argue the finer points of US law about working animals.</p><p>But the proprietor of the small lunch shop had taken to Cerberus immediately, even going so far as to show Brock a picture of his daughter with her dachshund while taking his order the first time.</p><p>This was now Brock’s go-to lunch spot every time he ended up in the nation’s capital, and so was the place where he found himself on this brisk Fall afternoon. A menu was placed in front of him at his table.</p><p>“Hello again, my friend,” the owner greeted him. Brock nodded as the man smiled pleasantly at him before turning back to the kitchen.</p><p>“Thanks, Sharam,” Brock called out, eagerly opening the well-worn cardboard folder. Cerberus whined. Brock glanced down at the dog, calmly resting his head on his paws under the table while Brock debated the short menu.</p><p>“No human food for you, you know that,” he responded.</p><p>A woman’s voice spoke out clearly behind him. “What, I can’t give him a kofta kebab for being such a good boy?”</p><p>That voice, <em>that woman</em> had gotten him and the rest of the Team through more than one mission. He slowly turned around in his chair, looking up to meet the eyes of a pale CIA officer with dark hair and high cheekbones.</p><p>Damn, it was good to see her.</p><p>“Did I miss something?“ he asked. “Or did Cerberus and I become your next target package?” It was a joke, but he kept any hint of humor off his face and waited for her to crack a smile.</p><p>Instead, Mandy’s expression didn’t change, but fell a little. Brock’s brow furrowed and he laughed uncomfortably.</p><p>“Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t realize my joke was <em>that</em> bad.”</p><p>She sat down across from him, solemnly folding her hands on the table. “Actually, I’m…not preparing target packages anymore.”  </p><p>He’d been thrown by more than one blast wave in his career, the force of the explosions making him feel like an egg thrown against a concrete wall. Mandy may as well have hit him with an emotional IED. They’d worked together since he’d joined Bravo six years earlier. She was always on the group’s fringes yet was as much of a part of any op as the rest of the Team.</p><p>Brock pushed his plate of food away from him, suddenly not hungry. “Was this your choice?” he asked calmly, hoping it had been. After capturing Khan, Bravo was back in the brass’s good graces. At least, he’d thought it was.  It didn’t make sense that Mandy would’ve found herself down-and-out with leadership. Unless…</p><p>She explained, “All I can say is that, I prefer not to work in a government-gray, D.C. office. I’d rather be in the field.” He blinked, realizing that she <em>was</em> on the brass’s shit list. “I really can’t say much. Just that there were consequences from the last mission because of a choice I made. I’m grounded permanently. Just me, not any of you. The District is my home now.”</p><p>“When were you going to tell us?” His voice may have been calm but he felt caught between tides of confusion and fury. The Team was alive—he was alive—because of her. It didn’t seem right that she should pay a price for that.</p><p>Mandy’s gaze went to the tabletop and she brushed away an invisible speck of dust. “You all have another four weeks of shore leave. I was going to drive down to VA Beach when you went back to tell the group in person.” She looked back up at him and forced a smile. It was the same one he saw on her face when anyone on a mission died and Blackburn told them to swallow their grief and move on. This was the death of her career. “So what are you doing here?” she asked, abruptly changing the topic.</p><p>“Cerberus and I have a high-risk deployment training at the FBI this week,” Brock answered, indulging her for one moment—but only one. “Seriously, Mandy, this is permanent? Blackburn can’t call in a few favors and get you reinstated?”</p><p>She shook her head. “Not on this one.”</p><p>He frowned, reaching out a hand that hesitated over hers for a moment before he threw caution to the wind and wrapped his calloused fingers around her cool, soft ones. He expected her to tense up, to pull her hand away, but she didn’t. He’d always thought her pretty. Gorgeous was a better word, really, but their roles on the team had done a good job of keeping any more pleasant thoughts out of his head.</p><p>“You always found a way out for us when we thought there wasn’t one,” he comforted. “We’ll do the same for you.” </p><p>Her blue eyes were locked on his grey ones like a laser scope. Moments ticked by. His hand stayed wrapped around hers. Her fingers held tightly to his. So tightly, it almost hurt.</p><p>Then she let go. Her gaze swiveled to the menu.</p><p>“So the food’s authentic here?” she asked, turning the conversation about-face. He felt bereft somehow, like he was missing something he didn’t know he needed. She perused every item in a way that seemed more like an attempt to avoid looking at him rather than a sudden, intense interest in the food. “I see a lot of burgers on the menu for an Afghan place.” Her eyes stayed on the page in front of her.</p><p>She was embarrassed, he thought. Fuck him for taking a chance with one of the few women he’d spent any time with in the last six years and screwing it up. </p><p>“The owner’s a refugee from J-Bad,” he told her, trying to get back on an even keel. “Sharam’s wife is an American who works for State. So the Afghan food’s as authentic as the American stuff on the menu.” A man a few seats ahead got handed a brown grocery bag with handles by the owner. He sat the food and his belongings in a small backpack on the small chair next to him.</p><p>Mandy finally looked up, eyes darting to the man with the to-go back who sat with his back to them. “Hm. Maybe I’ll grab some to go for dinner. I never thought I’d say I miss the food in J-Bad, but now that I’m not going back…”</p><p>“Don’t think about it. Three-foot world, remember?”</p><p>She smiled weakly and he felt relieved at least that she seemed to have forgotten his little hand-holding debacle. “Right. Three-foot world,” she sighed, then straightened up. “Well, what’s right in front of me is the fact that I have to buy curtains at Bed Bath and Beyond tonight for my new apartment. So we can either talk interior décor, which neither you nor I give a damn about, or we can talk about your training. How’s it going for you?”</p><p>They talked. They ate. Brock stopped kicking himself for having held Mandy’s hand and instead contemplated kicking the ass of the nameless CIA bureaucrat who’d taken her from the Team.</p><p>Scratch that. The nameless CIA bureaucrat had taken her from <em>him</em>.</p><p>Dessert arrived at the table. He poked at it.</p><p>“You’re upset,” Mandy suggested.</p><p>Brock looked up, not sure what to say. Mandy leaned in. “I’m an interrogator, Brock. You know I’m good at reading people. You never say much but I don’t need your words to know what you’re thinking. After watching you for six years, I know you’re the one guy on the team who never skips dessert. So if you’re not eating <em>that</em>…” she pointed to the Afghani rice pudding in front of him—“It means something’s wrong.”</p><p>Brock looked at the untouched scoop of <em>sher berinj, </em>with its ground pistachios dusted on top of the rice in the ironic shape of a heart. He frowned.</p><p>“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Cerberus stood, looked out the window, and Brock looked to see what had drawn the dog’s attention. The man with the takeout had departed the restaurant. Cerberus returned to his resting place on the floor and Brock dug his spoon into his dessert.</p><p>Mandy eyed him in a way that made him think she could read minds. Or, at the very least, that she was trying to read his. “You can tell me what’s wrong,” she prodded, “or I can lock us together in a small room until you talk. You know how persuasive I can be.”</p><p>Brock’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. Maybe it was his male brain talking, but if her comment didn’t have a sexual edge to it, nothing did. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. He put his spoon down, wiped his mouth with his napkin and coughed nervously.</p><p>“I don’t want to get this wrong,” he led. “But why do you want to lock us in a room when you didn’t want my hand on yours?”</p><p>Mandy looked out the restaurant window, and he tried not to think about how perfect her profile was while she was lost in thought. How had he not noticed this while they were deployed together the last six years? Oh, right. He had. He’d just done what he’d always done: Ignore and override.</p><p>He could see her bite her lip before turning back to him. His eyes lingered on the spot on her lips where the mark of her own teeth marks momentarily remained, making him wish for a moment those marks were from him.</p><p>“The problem is that I did want your hand there,” she answered. “But I can’t think about my work with Bravo. If you try to get me my job back, you’re all just going to get yourselves and me in a whole lot of trouble. And I don’t want to be reminded of how much I’ve lost. Right now I just want to forget what happened and move on with my life.”</p><p>Brock shifted in his seat. He felt sympathy towards her and wanted to help, but not necessarily in the way it sounded like she was suggesting. “Hey, I can respect that, and I’m sorry about it. But a one-night stand isn’t going to make anything better. For either one of us.” He gestured down to Cerberus with his head. “I didn’t ask you to play fetch with Cerberus all those nights on deployment because my pitching arm was tired. I did it because it was the only time I ever saw you smile.”</p><p>Mandy seemed caught in her tracks. After a long moment, some thoughtful consideration, she spoke. “You know, I’m clearly not moving anywhere for a while. And we know each other pretty well already.” She inclined her head, backpedaling. “Well, we’ve spent a lot of time together. I guess we don’t actually know each other. Maybe we can give this a try for awhile. Nothing’s holding us back, now that we don’t work together,” she added, and he couldn’t mistake the disappointment tinging her voice.   </p><p>The corner of his mouth turned up. “Oh, I know you, alright. I can hear you presenting target packages in my sleep.”</p><p>“Really?” She looked hopeful.</p><p>His expression was deadpan. “Yeah, it’s the stuff of my nightmares.” He smiled broadly and she reached across the table to slap him on the upper arm. They both laughed.</p><p>Mandy gathered her coat, ready to leave. “Well, I should get back to my office and move some more of my stuff in, but what do you say to dinner at my place tonight? We can get food to go. I hear there’s this great little Afghan place that does take out.” She grinned wolfishly.</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>They both stood and pushed in their chairs. Cerberus rose too, and Brock took his leash as the trio made their way made their way towards the door. They passed an empty table with plates and utensils yet to be bussed.  Cerberus stopped, his nose hovering over the chair that the man with the takeout bag and the backpack had vacated.</p><p>Then he sat down.</p><p>Mandy froze, her icy blue eyes meeting Brock’s piercing gray ones.  Cerberus barked at the chair, then at the window, and they both knew for sure: The man who ordered take-out had explosives with him in a restaurant in the middle of Washington, D.C.  </p><p>And now that man was gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pair stared at the now-empty chair.</p><p>Mandy spoke to Brock under her breath. “That was the guy with the take-out bag and the backpack, wasn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Did you see which way he went?”</p><p>Brock followed Cerberus’s gaze out the window. “My back was to him, but Cerberus keeps looking down New York Avenue,” he answered in hushed tones.</p><p>“That takes him straight towards the White House,” Mandy hissed.</p><p> “Or towards the busiest metro station in all of DC,” Brock countered.</p><p>Mandy pursed her lips as they both looked out the window and contemplated their course of action. “Could we be wrong about this?” she asked. “How often is Cerberus wrong?”</p><p>“Not often enough to make me ignore this.” Brock’s eyes darted around to see if anyone was looking before he snatched a few of the used napkins off the table for Cerberus to get a scent from. He stuffed them in his pocket. “We should leave,” he ordered, nudging Mandy forward with a hand on the small of her back, Cerberus in tow. The bell attached to the door clanged on their way out.</p><p>They left the lunch shop and turned the corner. There, the trio stopped so Brock could produce the collection of napkins out of sight of anyone who’d been in the eatery.</p><p>“Find it, buddy,” he commanded. Cerberus eagerly sniffed what Brock held. A moment later the Belgian Malinois pulled sharply at the leash and led his humans right back in the direction they’d come. They’d barely retraced their steps before the dog stopped abruptly in front of a blue U.S. Postal Service mailbox.</p><p>Cerberus sat and barked.</p><p>The hair stood up on the back of Brock’s neck. They were just feet from the restaurant where they’d eaten. None of this was good news. “Good boy,” he said, offering the dog tense praise.</p><p>Mandy turned to Brock. “Explosives?” she asked quietly.</p><p>“Yeah. They’re in the box.” He could practically see the mental calculations Mandy was making in her head as she stared at the box; he was making the same ones.</p><p>“We’ve got to go,” she snapped. “Now.”  </p><p>He didn’t need to be told twice. In one swift motion his hand darted out and wrapped around her upper arm, pulling her close to him. They pivoted and bolted up 18<sup>th</sup> street in a desperate bid to put distance between themselves and whatever was in that mailbox. Cerberus’s tracking task was temporarily forgotten as they pounded the pavement.</p><p>Brock barely noticed the curious looks people were giving them. A scruffy, casually-dressed guy running like mad with a woman in a suit down a DC street? Yeah, that raised some eyebrows. But not as many as a blown-up city block would.</p><p>After running for what seemed like far too long and yet not nearly long enough, they stopped to regroup. “Four blocks is far enough away, right?” Mandy asked. “We’re not talking about a big bomb here.” She glanced down at her feet in annoyance. “Dammit, remind me never to wear heels again. I can’t run in these things,” she muttered.</p><p>He wanted to protest, to tell her how much he actually wanted to see her wear them <em>more</em> because of what they did to her legs, her body, her walk, but there wasn’t time.</p><p>“Yeah, he’d need something bigger to take out more than a block.” Brock looked around surreptitiously for the man they’d seen in the restaurant but didn’t recognize anyone in the crowds that filled the sidewalks. “So you’re thinking whatever he put in that mailbox is supposed to blow up there? It could be raw materials. Or he could be mailing it to his intended victims.” In his mind, they hadn’t sprinted from a mailbox of raw materials. He was as almost as certain as she was that the mailbox harbored an immediate threat, but he wanted to know her thinking.</p><p>Mandy shook her head. “Mail bombings are a waste of terrorists’ resources. Everyone screens their mail now. Sure, it could be the ingredients for a bomb, but terrorists don’t like leaving a trail for investigators to follow. It’s more likely a small bomb hooked up to a remote detonator. I think he wants it to go off in that mailbox. I need to get this guy before he disappears.” She bit her lower lip. “And I don’t think that’s the only one he’s planted in the city, Brock.”</p><p>Brock’s head was already on a swivel, but now all of his senses went to DEFCON-1. “If you don’t have ATF’s tip line on speed dial, I do,” he told her. But she already had her cell out. He kept his eyes on the crowd as she quietly placed the call, then hung up.</p><p>“They’re sending the bomb squad to the mailbox and ATF to the restaurant,” she told him. “Now let’s go get this guy.”</p><p>He couldn’t have agreed more. Brock pulled out the napkins, gave Cerberus the scent and the command again. For a moment he wondered if their four-block dash away from immediate danger had sent them in the wrong direction. Astonishingly, Cerberus pulled at the leash and dragged the pair across the street. Looking just a block away, Brock could make out a soaring glass-and-metal dome on the street corner that doubled as artwork and landmark. He’d seen the form before, in dozens of locations across the city. Cerberus was leading them right to it.  </p><p>“Well, that’s good news and bad news,” Brock muttered as he realized where they were headed.</p><p>“What?” Mandy asked.</p><p>“The good news is that the bastard used the same escape route we did.”</p><p>“What’s the bad news?”</p><p>They stopped in front of the imposing steel-and-glass structure that covered a set of escalators leading underground. “The bad news is, it looks like the fucker decided to take a trip on the Metro.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments are much appreciated! Thank you all for the love you’ve shown this story so far and your patience as I write. The whole thing is plotted out, I just need time to write. </p><p>Also: I would love a beta reader for this story! Hit me up in the comments, I’d be eternally grateful!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brock felt Mandy’s fingers wrap tightly around his.  “We are <em>not</em> going to lose him now,” she implored, and pulled at his hand with all the intensity and determination of an order from a commanding officer.</p><p>But Brock didn’t move.</p><p>Mandy swung back around to look at him, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.</p><p>“Brock—“</p><p>“If he’s down there, there’s no way out,” he explained calmly. “We don’t know how he’ll react if he recognizes us. You know how we always leave the enemy an exit so they don’t do anything extra stupid or unpredictable?”</p><p>She seemed skeptical but willing to listen. “Yes…”</p><p>“Subway platforms are dead-ends. He’ll be cornered. If he decides to fight or has an S-vest, it could be a massacre. I left my weapon in a locker at the FBI for my class. We’re armed with a hair missile and nothing else.” As if on cue, Cerberus growled. Brock reached down and gave him a comforting scratch on the ruff of his neck. “And even if we do get the guy, you and I aren’t law enforcement. We can’t arrest him.”</p><p>Mandy’s hands went to her hips as she pleaded with him. “All I’m asking for is two seconds. I just want to give a  description to the people who <em>can</em> arrest him.” She crossed her arms while she waited for him to respond and he knew she was trying to find another angle to her argument. He also knew that with Mandy, that meant her opponent was about to lose the argument. “Every second we spend arguing is another second this guy puts between himself and us. Do you want to sit back and watch yet another terrorist get away?”</p><p>Damned if she didn’t know his kryptonite. Then again, it was hers too.</p><p>“Fine,” he bargained. “But if I take your hand and squeeze it twice, it’s me telling you that we’re getting out of there. No questions asked.”</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>They took the escalator down to the entrance. “Perfect timing,” Mandy said, pointing up at the digital display. “They’re doing track repairs this afternoon. The next train isn’t for almost 20 minutes. He’s probably stuck down there.”</p><p>“Yeah, key word: stuck,” Brock reminded her. “Let’s stay back. We need to make sure he doesn’t panic. With Cerberus we like a sore thumb and he’ll probably remember us. We need to act like locals who took the afternoon off work or something.”</p><p>She blinked. Then she smiled broadly.</p><p>“What?” He asked.</p><p>“I’ve got a plan. Come on.” She took his hand again but this time her fingers laced through his. It took him to a moment to realize just what her plan was. With a touch as light as a lover’s, she led him and Cerberus over to the brown and orange fare gates.  They tapped their cards and walked through, the gates closing with a loud and foreboding thud that only emphasized just how trapped they now were.</p><p>The trio crossed the terracotta tiled floor and headed to the balcony overlooking the tracks. They stopped a few feet from the edge, poised to step into the elevator.</p><p>Brock began to protest. “I don’t think we should take the elev—“</p><p>Mandy laid a finger on his lips.</p><p>He relaxed as she gave him a sultry smile from merely inches away. She’d never looked at him like that before, though he couldn’t say he hadn’t imagined her gazing at him with those eyes. It was a good thing the Navy had spent millions training him to keep his mind focused on his work.</p><p>Mandy removed her finger from his lips and wrapped her arms around his waist. Cerberus gave a whine that sounded almost like ‘Huh?’ and Brock nearly laughed. Cerberus was probably just as confused as he was.</p><p>“What are you doing?” He asked quietly.</p><p>“You said to act like a local.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled. “I’m happy we have the afternoon off, honey.”</p><p>Brock knew that good leadership wasn’t always about leading; sometimes it was about knowing when to follow. He had to follow Mandy’s lead, as crazy as it seemed in that moment. Jace was going to kill him for violating protocol by cuddling up with their intelligence officer if he ever found out about this. Sonny and the rest of the team would never let him live it down. It would all be worth it, though, but only if they nailed the guy who’d mailed the explosives.</p><p>Brock tightened his grip on Cerberus’s leash and encircled Mandy’s waist with his own arms.</p><p>“So sweet pea,” he teased, all the while keeping a straight face. “What’s the plan for our afternoon off?”</p><p>“First, this,” she led. She tilted her head and placed a light kiss on his neck.  He stiffened.  This seemed to be taking the ‘local lovers’ charade a bit too far.</p><p>“Mandy—“</p><p>She turned her head and he felt her teeth graze his earlobe. He drew in a sharp breath. He felt her run her tongue against along his earlobe. If he’d had no self-control he would’ve been panting like Cerberus. What the hell was she doing? </p><p>Suddenly she pulled back and looked him in the eyes. He expected to see the feigned gaze of a love-struck woman but instead saw an expression that made him think she’d seen a ghost.</p><p>“What?” He asked, suddenly concerned.</p><p>Mandy swiftly pulled him into a close embrace. In heels she was as tall as he was. Cheek-to-cheek, she whispered in his ear.</p><p>“Brock. I saw him. I was looking over the balcony while I was kissing you,” she breathed. “He’s a terrorist educator I tailed for years. He went underground two years ago. He’s back.”</p><p>“A terrorist ‘educator’?” He whispered. He’d never heard of such a thing.</p><p>“He’s an engineer,” she explained quietly. “His job isn’t to do the bombing. He shows other terrorists how to build bombs. And not little ones, either. Think of bombs the size of the Oklahoma City one or the first World Trade Center bomb.”</p><p>“So he’s not getting on that train to blow it up?”  </p><p>Mandy pulled him closer, and this time it seemed she did it more so out of comfort than out of a role she was playing.</p><p>“Probably not. But wherever he’s going, thousands of lives will be lost after he gets there.”</p>
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